


Amontons' First Law of Friction

by suchanadorer



Series: Indistinguishable From Magic [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Post S8, diner conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>'The force of friction is directly proportional to the applied load.' Or, the harder you push on something, the harder it will push back, and the more friction there's going to be.</i>
</p><p>With Lucifer joining up with Team Free Will to help them go after Metatron, it's inevitable that, sooner or later, Dean and Lucifer will have a conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amontons' First Law of Friction

They’re too late for breakfast, but too early for the start of the lunch rush, so the four of them are a crowd when they come tromping in through the door. They’re the only customers in the sleepy diner other than two old men in ball caps and denim jackets, fixtures attached to the counter, surviving on coffee and small talk. The waitress sees them and nods in their direction as they slide into the closest booth. Sam runs a hand through his hair and it comes back wet, so he wipes it on the thigh of his jeans.

Rain hammers against the window, half-hidden behind dusty blinds, the sound of it oppressive under the empty Top Forty hits coming from the radio behind the bar. The muted grey light from outside leaks in through the slats, stealing the color and warmth from the air. The weather has kept them pinned down for three days, unable to do much more than roll through the town in the Impala and interview what few witnesses will tell their stories. All four of them are on edge, over-sensitive and in desperate need of a breakthrough.

Lucifer and Castiel have assured Sam and Dean that there are angels in the city. Their best theory, which they will be checking out sometime later today, is that they are being housed in the basement of a local church. The overnight appearance of very specific anti-angel warding on the church shows that they were right. It also leaves Lucifer irritated that he will be unable to assist them.

But no one will be doing anything without breakfast. The four of them had met up in Dean and Castiel’s room and come to the half-awake conclusion earlier before piling into the Impala and heading to the nearest diner. The smell of frying meat and warm butter intensifies and Sam’s stomach growls in response. He rolls a stir stick between his fingertips and glances at Lucifer and Dean as they argue about how much sugar is necessary for a cup of coffee.

Dean stirs another creamer down into his mug. “Coffee with milk and sugar costs the same as coffee without it, so you better believe I’m going to take milk and sugar when I can get it.”

“That’s not _milk._ ”

It comes from Lucifer and Castiel at the same time in the same defensive tone, and Sam grins as Dean struggles with which of them to tell off first, only to give up and frown into his coffee.

Castiel’s dark gaze turns back to the window. He’s tucked into the corner of the booth opposite Lucifer, with Sam and Dean sitting on the outside, their legs spilling out from under the table. He drums his fingernails on the white porcelain of the mug and stares out into the rain in the direction of the church with red-rimmed eyes. 

Last night’s planning session had turned into an argument, which then turned into something else entirely as Castiel tried once again to convince them that it was best for him to confront the angels alone. Sam and Lucifer had retreated to their room long after midnight, and from the looks of it no one got a lot of sleep.

Dean watches Castiel out of the corner of his eye. If they get into the church tonight, this will be their first confrontation with angels since Lucifer’s appearance. No one’s mentioned it out loud, but it’s clear in Castiel’s anxious silence and Lucifer’s frustration that they are thinking about it.

The frail, middle-aged waitress approaches the table with a heavily-laden tray. Sam sees her first and leans back against the red vinyl couch. The others follow suit, adjusting themselves and their coffees to give her room to fill the table with bowls and plates. She moves with the quiet professionalism of someone whose career has been built on helping people before they’ve had their morning coffee. Fallen angels eat, so there is food for everyone. Scrambled eggs and toast for Castiel, an omelette for Sam, oatmeal and fruit salad in front of Lucifer, the sausage and pancakes in front of Dean. She doesn’t double-check their order, and she makes no mistakes.

“I’ll be by with more coffee in a bit,” she offers automatically, met with four identical practiced smiles and a couple of muttered thank-yous.

The atmosphere around the table warms with the food. Dean teases Lucifer about his vegetarianism, but under the table Sam bumps his knee against Lucifer’s and leaves it there, so Lucifer rolls his eyes but doesn’t take the bait beyond stealing Dean’s syrup for his oatmeal. The past month has seen Dean’s suspicion of Lucifer diminish as he continues to prove himself a competent and reliable ally with no intention of restarting the Apocalypse. They are not yet friends, but Sam’s early concerns are fading, and he calls every day they spend together a success.

“You look better,” Castiel mumbles around a mouthful of scrambled eggs, nodding towards Lucifer. “You’ve been sleeping better.”

Sam frowns, and he and Lucifer share a look that Castiel sees and silently inventories, but Dean misses thanks to the return of the waitress, this time with a pot of steaming coffee.

Three weeks ago Dean had declared with exaggerated benevolence that since Lucifer wasn’t going to kill everyone it was okay if he shared a room with Sam. That first night, Sam had discovered a secret that Castiel had been diligently keeping from all assembled: Lucifer spent his nights twitching, whining, and sweating, plagued by nightmares that left him pale and shaking the next morning.

For three days Sam had left him to it. Nightmares that bad leave your mind wide open to anyone sharing a room with you, so Sam spared Lucifer that cold sweat and sting of shame as long as he could. That fourth night Sam had crossed the tiny hotel room to wake him, but the angel had stilled under his touch, so Sam stayed by his side all night, and every night since then.

“Thank you,” Lucifer replies after the waitress retreats behind the countertop. “I am sleeping more soundly now.” Sam feels Lucifer relax next to him when he comes to the conclusion that Castiel isn’t going to go into more detail.

Castiel holds Sam’s gaze for a long moment, but Sam is silent. Castiel didn’t tell Sam there was a problem. Sam sees no reason to divulge for Castiel that they’ve found a solution.

Dean’s eyes flit around the table suspiciously. “Is there something going on I should know about?”

“Nope,” Sam answers, speaking into his glass before taking a sip of orange juice.

“Alright, fine, whatever.” He snatches the syrup back, pausing when he catches Lucifer’s eye. He hesitates for a moment, licking his lips. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Lucifer’s eyes flare and he straightens, sitting back away from the table for a moment, then he shrugs.

“Better that than just blatantly assuming, I suppose.”

Dean sniffs, his confidence wilting under the full strength of Lucifer’s patient glare. Sam smiles to himself as he watches his brother screw himself down into the booth a little and clear his throat, preparing to speak.

“I, umm. I been thinking.” He spears a piece of pancake and lifts it to his mouth as he speaks. “Why did you let me shoot you?”

Sam’s head snaps up and he twists in his seat. Their waitress is laughing with the cook by the door to the kitchen, and the two truckers are too engrossed in their newspapers to pay attention to a sudden clatter of cutlery. No one not sitting at the table could have heard the question.

Creases appear on Castiel’s brow, and Dean shrinks further as the silence spreads out over the table. The rain drums and the radio crackles. 

Lucifer blinks slowly, then sighs, rubbing at his forehead as if remembering the wound.

He begins simply. “Crowley told you the gun would kill me.”

Dean and Sam nod, Sam more slowly than his brother. Under the table, Lucifer’s hand finds Sam’s knee and stops the nervous bouncing. Dean and Lucifer have been civil to each other up to this point, and Lucifer has no intention of ruining that now. It’s too important to Sam.

“You believed him,” Lucifer continues. “If I had tried to keep you from shooting me, you would’ve just kept believing him. You’re a fairly empirical guy, Dean.”

Lucifer waits for Dean to reply. Sam and Castiel look on as Dean’s eyes roll up, then to the side as he works his way through the statement. 

He chews and swallows, and after a moment the corners of his mouth turn down and he nods. “Yeah, okay. So?”

“So, if I had told you the gun wouldn’t work, would you have believed me?”

“Hell no,” Dean fires back. “I would’ve figured you were trying to get out of getting killed.”

“A logical assumption from someone who has the opinion of me that you have,” Lucifer replies coolly.

Sam turns towards Lucifer, lifting his eyes from where he’s been shredding a napkin on the table. 

“You mean you let us shoot you just to prove to us that the Colt wouldn’t work?” Sam asks.

“Exactly,” Lucifer replies, giving Sam’s knee a squeeze before pulling his hand up onto the table again. He still has an untouched bowl of fruit salad, which he now pulls nearer, scrutinizing the contents. “And I appreciate that you acknowledging that I let you.”

For a moment everyone is silent. Castiel recovers first, scraping his glass of grapefruit juice over the table before lifting it to his lips. His eggs and toast are almost gone, and he drains the glass before setting it down again.

Dean returns his attention to his pancakes, taking back his syrup yet again and watching gleefully as he pours concentric rings over what’s left of the full stack. His brow furrows when he sets the bottle down again, and he points a dripping fork in Lucifer’s direction.

“Used to have, by the way,” he says with a serious expression.

Lucifer tilts his head, and Sam looks up from what’s left of his omelette.

“You said ‘opinion that I have of you’ or whatever,” Dean explains. Lucifer watches drops of syrup fly off Dean’s fork where he’s still waving it at him. Castiel’s hand comes up and gently pushes Dean’s hand back down onto the table while Dean talks. “I don’t have that opinion of you anymore. You’re, I don’t know, you’re useful now, and you’re not trying to kill us-”

“I was never trying to kill you,” Lucifer interrupts around a mouthful of fruit, and Castiel grimaces.

“You slapped me into a tree,” Dean reminds him. Sam shifts in his seat, eyes moving back and forth between them.

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “You shot me in the face.”

Dean gapes. “You just said you let me!”

What lightness there was disappears from Lucifer’s voice as sets his coffee cup down and leans forward over the table. “You put Sam in front of me as bait," he counters.

This time everyone fails to see the waitress until she’s at the table. Castiel smiles and covers his mug with his hand as she offers refills, plucks empty plates and glasses with nicotine-stained fingers. Lucifer hovers possessively over what’s left of his fruit salad until she leaves again, then flops back against the couch.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.” Sam’s voice comes out weak and dry, as if he hasn’t spoken in days. He takes a sip of coffee and glances at Lucifer. “That’s why I was there,” he continues with growing confidence. “It was my idea, to put me there.”

“I could’ve kidnapped you.” Lucifer counters with sincerity in his voice. “Tortured you, killed you.”

Sam smiles and gives a quick roll of his eyes.

“No, you couldn’t have,” he answers with the same level of sincerity. “Meg maybe, but not you. You had a whole _plan_ ,” he says, drawing the word out. “You weren’t going to do anything to me there.” He gestures with his hands while he speaks, as if he could draw Lucifer’s plan in the air over the table. 

Lucifer’s expression softens as he watches him. “You built a strategy based on believing me?”

“Yeah, and I hated it,” Dean’s been watching Sam explain, but now he interrupts, sneering over his coffee cup. “But by that point we had pretty limited options, since it was just the two of us left.” His eyes cut to the side, glancing at Castiel, who meets his eyes then looks down at the coffee resting between his hands. “So ‘strategy’ is giving it more credit than it deserves, especially since it turns out you wanted to get shot.”

Lucifer waggles his hand in the air. “I had to let you, but that doesn’t mean I wanted you to. Even if it can’t kill me, that gun is still an incredibly powerful weapon. It hurt!”

“Good!” Dean gapes, slightly flustered.

There is anger and surprise on Lucifer’s face, but not enough to be threatening. The moment between them has passed, returning to the sort of practical, almost light-hearted discussion of violence that is somehow a part of their everyday.

Castiel clears his throat. One of the truckers glances back over his shoulder, and the waitress is staring at them from behind the counter. Dean and Lucifer relax back away from each other where they’d leaned in over the table.

“Well then, Dean, I’m glad I had the opportunity to give you a bright spot in the middle of an otherwise dark Apocalypse.”

Dean stares, mouth hanging open, before exploding into laughter. Castiel smiles and Sam breathes out as the tension around the table evaporates. 

The waitress brings the check unasked for. Dean is still giggling and muttering to himself about Lucifer brightening the Apocalypse, so Sam pays her, and they take it for the signal that it is, sliding out of the booth and trailing single file out the door, back into the rain to face the long day ahead of them.


End file.
